


Questions, Questions

by kiitos



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiitos/pseuds/kiitos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a particularly dull morning, some bored government employees discuss Malcolm's sex life with confusing consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions, Questions

**Author's Note:**

> The M rating is for the language but if you watch TTOI you should be used to the swearing by now.

“So what is the deal with Jamie and Malcolm?” Ollie asked one particularly depressingly slow morning.

Glenn looked up wearily from his newspaper, Terri stopped peeling an apple and blinked at him and Robyn momentarily stopped filing her nails.

“Well don’t look at me like I’m fucking mental.” Ollie said defensively avoiding Terri’s eyes since he really didn’t give a shit if her sister worked in mental health or not. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered.”

Glenn made a vaguely interested noise before speaking. “I heard Malcolm found him in an orphanage and trained him up like a Scottish Fagin.”

Terri sniggered. “No, don’t be silly. They were raised by wolves in the shadow of Ben Nevis and stick together for familiarity’s sake.”

“No that’s not true.” Robyn interjected as though they were actually on the cusp of believing Terri. “Malcolm found Jamie in a seminary; he was training to be a priest.”

Glenn, Terri and Ollie all looked at her like she’d suddenly grown another head and announced her intentions to run for PM.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Terri sniffed.

“That’s the least believable thing I’ve ever heard.” Glenn huffed, returning to his newspaper.

“Fuck off, Robyn.” Ollie sighed before returning to the matter at hand. “No I don’t care how they met, my point is, are they fucking?”

Terri’s apple hit the floor, Glenn accidentally ripped the pages of his newspaper and Robyn dropped the spoon she was inexplicably holding. All three looked as though they hadn’t wanted to consider that question before but now that they had, it was pretty fucking interesting.

“I don’t think so.” Robyn began, though nobody was really listening to her anyway.

“It’s a possibility.” Terri shrugged. “Who else would have either of them; their ex-wives got shot as soon as they could.”

Glenn folded his paper as best he could and sat forward looking thoughtful. “Jamie is the only man I’ve ever seen actually enjoy being threatened by Malcolm, and he’s the only one who has ever made Malcolm laugh without doing something stupid first.”

Ollie nodded. “See this is exactly what I’m saying. They arrive together half the time and the other half they fucking leave together. They’re like some terrible duo of death and imaginative swearing; I bet you a tenner they fall in to bed together when they’re done shouting.”

Terri shook her head so vehemently she looked a bit like she’d been in a wind tunnel when she was done. “Maybe they’re in love, someone should make them both happy, why not each other?”

Even Robyn laughed at that, which meant that comment had been relegated to the pile of most ridiculous things ever said by anyone remotely associated with the government, right alongside Ben Swain’s entire Paxman interview and the time Julius had asked Malcolm if he cared to take lunch with him.

Terri looked supremely offended. “Well then maybe you should just ask, Ollie.” She pointed at him rather threateningly, “since you are so interested.”

Ollie actually flailed for a second. “I am not asking Malcolm Tucker if he’s fucking his pet bulldog, that would be political and personal fucking suicide!”

“Yes it would.” Malcolm himself suddenly intoned, quiet and deadly. “Because that would be implying that Jamie is English like all of you useless brain-dead twats, and that’d be a pretty fucking terrible thing to say to a Scot, wouldn’t it Jamie?”

Jamie, having also suddenly appeared and quite frankly scaring the shit out of the four others who were not Malcolm, grinned like a manic pixie on cocaine. (Malcolm was used to such facial expressions by now and merely mimicked the look for full effect.) “That it would, Malc. It’d be pretty fucking terrible indeed. D’you know what else would be terrible? Sitting around like a bunch of dozy cunts discussing the senior press guys’ sex lives instead of doing any fucking work.”

“Aye.” Malcolm agreed. “That’d be a really bad decision, especially if the senior press guys didn’t take kindly to such specu-fuckin’-lation.”

“Yeah but,” Ollie suddenly felt quite brave because of the possibility of gaining some sort of upper hand. “Are you fucking?”

He half expected an explosion of swearing and his imminent death and/or departure from the building but Malcolm just smiled like some sort of predatory buzzard. “Well that’s just something you’ll have to wonder now, isn’t it?” He turned to Jamie. “Are you coming to lunch, darlin’?”

Jamie nodded, still grinning. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart.” And they left together, leaving more questions than ever before.

“Fucking.” Ollie concluded, sitting back in his chair.

“Yep.” Glenn agreed, picking up his newspaper and endeavouring to find the crossword.

“Don’t be silly.” Terri admonished, standing up to retrieve her apple. “They were playing with you, like always.”

Robyn nodded her agreement and silently went back to filing her nails.

In the corridor Jamie and Malcolm heard all this and laughed malevolently, it was always good to keep the peasants guessing. And besides, they were fucking, but it was a non-issue at work and therefore nobody needed to know, in their not so humble opinions.

Or were they?


End file.
